


Bells and Pomegranates

by Argyle



Category: Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We kept very much to our own company that term, each so much bound up in the other that we did not look elsewhere for friends."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bells and Pomegranates

It was growing colder.

Crisp leaves fell from lofty boughs, traveling over gates and across thresholds, swerving by the charm of gyres and finally settling upon damp cobbles and lawns, crimson and copper. October’s breezes spoke something of progress as they carried the scents of cloves and dust, hearty cinnamon and hearths across the quad. This slow chill threatened to creep between the pages of my present as a quiet tangle of ivy, though I grasped the memories of a thousand ripened hours that were now irrevocably passed, lazy summer days whose desires I could not commit to paper.

In turn, I felt that my own spirit had been loosened by the season, my steps quickening with a string of missed lectures and long nights spent sprawled before the grill of the fireplace, my face flushed with the flickering warmth, and there was only Sebastian.

Yes, Sebastian remained by my side, long ago having abandoned all pretense of decorum.

His hand passed from my shoulder to my neck with a close fervor, his breath falling against my cheek, throat, hushed with verse or the commandments of a forgotten alchemy. There was an urgency that descended upon us, a sharpness of bearing that had not vexed us before as we sat by the fountain at Brideshead, sipping from endless glasses of wine, or even as we strolled beside mile after labyrinthine mile of oily canals beneath the lavender canopy of the Venetian sky, our arms linked.

Sebastian’s mouth moved with a starry grace, his fingers tugging upon the buttons that lay in a streak down my chest; my own hands wove through his fine hair, palms falling across the form of his spine and determinedly forward once more to rest by the smooth clasp of his belt.

As I slipped my fingers inside, Sebastian closed his eyes, rocking into my hand with a slow, purposeful motion that seemed to match the limbs of flame that danced behind the grate. I saw the secret talons of frost that spread across the window, a solitary specter, and Sebastian’s hair as it hung in damp locks across his brow.

There was only Sebastian, gritting his teeth as our movements became less steady, his brow knit as he braced a hand to my back, drawing me ever closer with the rocking of his hips, and I roughly met his mouth with my own. My grip tightened and Sebastian opened his eyes, wide as with hunger, red rimed and glinting through a thin sheen of tears. His lips parted with a slow smile, smoke-like and somber.

With astonishing gentleness, he cupped my face in his hands.

I felt then that I was standing upon the edge of my consciousness. Sebastian tugged the fabric of my trousers away from my hips, hands mapping my chest, his mouth soft and knowing as his hair brushed faintly across my stomach. My own thoughts seemed to pause, waiting with the bated awe of one who glimpses the dark formations of storm clouds across the horizon. I imagined that I had become versed in an eternal language, presently allowing it to mould my spirit as I swiftly tensed and dropped against the woolen folds of the blanket.

The room seemed to become impossibly still, thick and defiant with a silence that was broken only by the stilted crackling of the fire. Sebastian shifted beside me, his limbs indulgent as he displaced the silk pillows that had settled atop our discarded shirts; his hair seemed at once to be a glistening, tousled halo.

Perhaps he laughed, his frame trembling with a soft sound that was almost a cry.

As we turned together once more, there was no hesitation to Sebastian’s voice as his mouth reached my ear, its timbre as ragged as my own; there was no repentance as his body pressed to my back, quick breaths scattering against my neck and teeth gently biting my shoulder. “Charles.”

 

 

I awoke to the chiming of bells.

Indeed, it seemed to be the distant rolls of thunder that stood in accompaniment to my imagined storm.

It was an icy sound, something unwittingly remembered after the passage of years uncounted, as brisk and detached as the autumn winds themselves. Through a deep reserve of caution that went momentarily unchecked, I knew even then that just as such things drew upon the cusp of the miraculous, preparing to cross yet uncharted lands, they were forever fated to run amiss.

I felt as though I was gazing upon a candid photograph, at once hesitant to blink for fear that the whorls of sepia and silver would vanish.

Sebastian stood by the window, his face shrouded by shadow and his forehead pressed to the glass. His breath misted there, falling beneath the blue wisps of smoke from his cigarette and swiftly fading as he stepped back and took a gulp of champagne. Crystalline shards of sunshine were caught within the flute, giving it the inherent appearance of motion, though its fizz had faded during the long, inaudible hours between waking and dreaming.

Stifling a yawn with the back of my hand, I raised myself upon my elbows and opened my mouth to speak, pausing only as Sebastian turned towards me, his eyes hazy and strained.

Fractured yellow light fell to the curve of his cheek, splaying red across his hands, and he smiled. “Good morning, Charles,” he said gently, moving to the bed and smoothing the coverlet as he settled beside me. Sitting against the headboard, he twined his fingers together before him, allowing them to settle within the scarlet creases of his dressing gown. His cigarette poised at a jaunty angle from the curl of his lips, he arched a brow. “Shall we be wicked today?”


End file.
